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~
Inundate your love
for this sacred village,
on bended knee,
facing the freshet,
supplicated hands pressed together,
one of grace, one of charity,
lips of sweet euphony,
whispering into the morning sun,
a language deep and pounding
inside your heart's timpani,
abiding like unsheltered waters
that nourish the vine

~
Capel Celyn was a rural community to the north west of Bala in Gwynedd, Wales, in the Afon Tryweryn valley. The village and other parts of the valley were flooded in 1965 to create a reservoir, Llyn Celyn, in order to supply Liverpool and Wirral with water for industry. Capel is Welsh for chapel, while celyn is Welsh for holly.
what makes a poet sing
is an innovative accord
on the words flowing
from a quill's written chord

what makes a poet sing
the imagery of the land
where blue hued mountains
majestically stand

what makes a poet sing
deep emotions in the heart's core 
of love enduring like
the lasting waves upon a shore

what makes a poet sing
sunshine of bright array
kissing with a warmness
so smiles can on a face play

what makes a poet sing
the harmony on the paper
sung through thoughts
in a scripted draper
Sometimes
Beauty of nature
My greatest friend
Ceases to inspire

Sometimes
Caught by emotion
I fail to see words
In a sentence

Sometimes
My thoughts drown
Good for them
May they rest in peace

Sometimes
I fail to write
It’s the quiet
Which I quite enjoy
~
The arithmetic of murky waters
Is not so clear

Neither are my chances of survival

Here is me
Face down in urgent sea

My wave
My grave
My gateway, perhaps

Whatever the consequence
Suffering is the new salvation

It all adds up
Sum how?
Sum way?

And if I was your ship
Destined to flounder
In the wide open drink

You'd re-enter the equation
And find a way to pull me through

Just so we could once more
Make the hurting count

~
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